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69

The coroner was the last witness for the prosecution. While
he spoke, Bunk Trevelyan was looking out the window, at
the clear sky. When the judge granted Mr. Munn's motion
for a postponement until the next morning, Mr. Munn, with-
out a word to his client, walked out of the courtroom, and
down the stairs to the dingy main hall of the courthouse and
out into the sunlight. He leaned against a tree on one side
of the courthouse yard, lighting his pipe and staring down
at the faded grass of the late season. The pleasure of the
first flavour of the tobacco after the abstinence of the after-
noon filled him, and then was forgotten. People who had
been at the trial began to cross the yard in scattered groups.

A man stopped in front of him and said, " Well, Perse, it
looks kin da like they might get your boy this time."

Regarding the man, Mr. Munn puffed the smoke idly from
his lips before he spoke. "Maybe not," he rejoined, and
shook his head.

" It looks like it."

" Maybe not," Mr. Munn repeated " You can't ever tell"
Meanwhile he was watching the open yard behind the court-
house.

" So long, Perse," the man said.

" So long," Mr. Munn replied, and started toward the rear
of the courthouse. He had seen Bunk Trevelyan being led
across the yard, his red, uncovered, shaggy head well above
the heads of the two deputies who escorted him. He followed
at a little distance, making no effort to catch up. They were
taking Trevelyan back to his cage until tomorrow.

He stood outside the door of the jail until the deputies
came back. " Hello," he said to them, and nodded.

"You want to see your boy, Mr. Munn?" one of them
asked.

" Is anybody back there to let me in?"

"Old man Dickey," the first deputy answered. Then he
spat a stream of tobacco juice into the dust by the curbstone,
and with a mild wonderment shook his head. " Yore boy,
now," he uttered, " he ain't turned a hair. Just don't look